


In Between the Lines (There's a Lot of Obscurity)

by PsychicPineapple



Category: Psych, teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Detective!Derek, M/M, Private Investigator Stiles, Psych!Fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:16:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychicPineapple/pseuds/PsychicPineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sterek fusion with/inspired by Psych. <b> Please note you do NOT have to have seen Psych to understand or enjoy this story! </b></p><p>Stiles Stilinksi: private investigator (kind of), perpetual thorn in Detective Derek Hale's side (definitely), and world class bull-shitter. Also, he solves murders. </p><p> </p><p>  <i>‘Oh, you know,’ Stiles leant casually against the wall, ‘I was in the neighbourhood so I just thought I’d stop by and solve a case for you.’ </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	In Between the Lines (There's a Lot of Obscurity)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks for stopping by. First up, let me be clear: you do NOT have to have seen Psych to understand this fic! So please read on ;)
> 
> This is a Sterek/Psych fusion, wherein I've dumped a bunch of characters from TW in the basic roles of Psych characters. I kept the location as Beacon Hills which, for the purposes of this fic, has a police department and a police chief rather than a sheriff/sheriff's department. Full disclosure, one line in there is lifted right out of the Psych pilot (let me know if you spot it! :P). 
> 
> My lovely douchealions read this over for me, but it's mostly unbeta'd. Please feel free to point out any errors and I'll fix asap. 
> 
> Enjoy!

‘Dude, are you sure this is a good idea?’

 

Stiles did a flailing dance with his hands that ended with his forefinger on Scott’s lips. ‘Shhhhh! We’re in stealth mode, Scott. Emphasis on the _stealth_.’

 

Scott rolled his eyes, mumbling past Stiles’ finger, ‘Mutif dete’ive- ’

 

‘Dude, gross,’ Stiles made a face, pulling his finger away from Scott’s mouth. ‘And, what?’

 

‘I _said_ ,’ Scott whispered, ‘if Detective Hale finds us sneaking around again, he’s gonna be pissed.’

 

‘Phht,’ Stiles huffed, turning back to peer through the bushes, ‘we’re not sneaking, okay, we’re working. We’re private detectives, this is what we do.’

 

‘ _You’re_ a private detective, I’m a vet,’ Scott corrected, even as he leant over Stiles should to peer at the crime scene. ‘And I’m still pretty sure you’re supposed to take a test or something for that, not just absorb your dad’s cop-fu through some freaky osmosis.’

 

‘Hey!’ Stiles protested, ‘that freaky osmosis pays my bills. And bought you that totally awesome Batman pez dispenser last week. Stop hating on it.’

 

Scott smiled. ‘That was a pretty cool pez dispenser, thanks man.’

 

‘No problem,’ Stiles nodded, ‘now if we can get back to the small matter of the _murder_.’ He gestured to the house across the street. There was a line of police tape surrounding the yard, cops and forensic investigators moving to and fro across the grass. Two black and whites were parked curbside, next to a flawlessly shiny black Camaro. Stiles smiled.

 

‘Come on,’ Scott scoffed, ‘how can you possibly tell it’s murder already? And from all the way over here?’

 

‘Well for one thing,’ Stiles gestured to the Camaro, ‘Detective Hardass doesn’t get out of bed for less than a homicide.’

 

‘Fine,’ Scott conceded, frowning at the car, ‘how are we supposed to get in?’

 

Stiles chewed his lip and furrowed his brow, letting his eyes roam. They settled on the front porch, taking in the large trampoline bed, mangled tennis balls, and two shiny bowls. Gears turning, he searched out the beat cop that would be manning the perimeter. When he locked on to the familiar blue uniform and an unfamiliar face, it all fell into place. He turned to Scott with a grin. ‘We’re gonna walk through the front door.’

 

**

 

‘This is a stupid idea, Stiles,’ Scott hissed as they approached the crime scene tape.

 

‘Shut up and act natural,’ Stiles responded, shooting a wink and nod at a random passerby. ‘Confidence is key.’  He reached out to lift the bright yellow tape when a hand shot out.

 

‘Whoa guys, hold it right there.’ The beat cop stepped into their path, edging them backwards. ‘Crime scene,’ he said slowly, tapping the tape, ‘you can’t just stroll through.’

 

‘Oh! Of course,’ Stiles nodded, ‘We just figured you knew we were coming.’ He gestured between himself and Scott.

 

The cop looked between them, narrowing his eyes. ‘And you are?’

 

‘I’m Stiles Stilinski, and this is my associate Jurgen Haabermeister, D.V.M.’ Scott lifted his hand in an awkward wave and Stiles raised his eyebrows expectantly. ‘Still not ringin’ any bells, huh?’

 

The cop frowned, ‘uh, no.’ He squinted at Scott, ‘Did he say D.V.M? As in a-‘

 

‘Vet, yes.’ Stiles interrupted with a nod. ‘Jurgen is a world-renowned veterinarian specializing in the treatment of post traumatic stress. Canines, specifically.’ He did another quick sweep of the porch, picking up a name printed on the bowls. ‘We were asked to come down and take a look at Manny.’

 

‘Manny?’ The cop repeated, his eyebrows rising in disbelief. ‘The dog?’

 

‘Yes, precisely. We understand he may have, uh,’ Stiles leant in, lowering his voice to a respectful whisper, ‘ _witnessed_ the event.’

 

The cop leaned in, unconsciously mimicking Stiles. ‘Witnessed…you mean the murder?’

 

‘Yes!’ Stiles said triumphantly, turning to Scott with a grin. ‘I mean, yes,’ he adjusted his tone to somber, casting his eyes down, ‘the tragic, tragic murder. And a dog doesn’t just walk away from something like that unscathed. You know, emotionally. It can lead to troubling – even aggressive – behavior down the line.’ The cop nodded in understanding, and Stiles bit down on a grin. Can you say _cakewalk_? ‘So we all good here, buddy?’

 

‘Yeah,’ the cop nodded, ‘just let me clear it with Detective Hale and I’ll bring you through.’ He turned to leave and Stiles clenched his fists in frustration. _So close_.

 

He exchanged a look with Scott, who just shrugged, clueless. ‘No, uh, wait!’ The cop turned back, and Stiles mind raced for a solution. ‘Listen, I’m going to go out on a limb and guess you’re new here, officer…?’

 

‘Mahealani. And yeah, I am,’ he squinted at Stiles suspiciously. ‘How’d you know?’

 

‘Just a hunch,’ Stiles murmured dismissively. ‘Look, have you heard any of the talk around the station about Detective Hale? Better yet, have you met him yourself?’

 

‘Yeah,’ Officer Mahealani’s face turned grim, as if he was recalling a particularly unpleasant memory. _Good old predictable Hale,_ Stiles thought, _100% douchebag, 100% of the time_.

 

‘Okay, so you probably know he’s a little…high-strung.’

 

Both Mahealani and Scott huffed out humourless chuckles, and then nodded to each other in commiseration.

 

‘Right, so here’s the thing; Detective Hale _personally_ requested we come down today. And I specifically remember him saying he’d cleared it with the perimeter guy. Right, Jurgen, you remember that?’

 

Scott nodded soberly.

 

‘Now, if you say you don’t know who we are – and I believe you don’t – then you know, and I know, and Jurgen knows, that it was Hale who dropped the ball, not you. Right?’

 

‘Yeah,’ Mahealani nodded, ‘I’ve been here all morning, and the guy’s barely said two words to me.’

 

‘Well that sounds just like him,’ Stiles said, voice heavy with disappointment as he turned to Scott, ‘doesn’t that sound just like him?’ 

 

‘Just like him,’ Scott concurred with a sad shake of his head.

 

‘Well listen, you seem like a nice guy, and the last thing you need after a morning like that is getting reamed out for something that we all know,’ he circled his hand in an encompassing gesture, ‘wasn’t even your fault. So what do you say; you let us in, Hale never has to know anything was up, no harm no foul.’

 

Mahealani stood still for a long, tense moment, his eyes flicking between them and one hand resting on the crime scene tape. ‘Okay,’ he said eventually, lifting the tape. ‘Go on through, the dog’s out back.’

 

Stiles ducked under the tape, Scott close behind. ‘Thanks buddy, appreciate it.’ Stiles managed to keep his cool until they were out of earshot. ‘Man did you _see_ that?’ He hissed, turning to Scott with a grin. ‘That was awesome! I mean, I really outdid myself on that one.’ He raised his fist and held it out to his friend.

 

‘Yes Stiles, you’re amazing,’ Scott drawled sarcastically, but he still bumped Stiles’ fist with his own. ‘Now can you do your thing so we can get out of here before we get busted?’

 

‘Right, you’re right,’ Stiles nodded. ‘Focus. ‘

 

Stiles glanced at the lock on the front door as they stepped through and moved cautiously down the short hallway. He let his eyes flicker around aimlessly as he walked, taking in whatever details he could and committing them to memory. The photos on the wall told a story, and he tried to piece it together as he passed them by. Stopping just short of the living room, Stiles stuck his arm out to halt Scott as he peered around the corner.

 

The room was mostly empty; a forensic photographer and a bored looking guy wearing a medical examiner’s jacket, leaning against a gurney. There was a body on the floor, mostly obscured by the sofa, but Stiles could see the lower part of two legs. Slim, narrow ankles and small feet; probably a woman. A sparkling gold anklet on the right foot supported his hypothesis, and also led him to lean towards eliminating robbery as a motive. He glanced around the room; there were signs of a struggle, but not a ransacking. Yep, burglary was off the list. He was about to inch closer when the French doors leading to the yard swung open, and Head Detective Derek Hale stormed in with his partner, Junior Detective Erica Reyes, hot on his heels.  

 

Trying to keep his flailing to a minimum, Stiles shoved at Scott until they were both pressed flat against the wall, out of sight.

 

‘Damn it,’ He heard Hale growl, ‘this is the third home invasion this month, in this neighbourhood.’

 

Stiles peeked cautiously around the corner. Hale was standing with his hands on his hips, tension running through every line of his body. Facing away from Erica, he seemed to be talking more to himself than her. His dark hair was sticking up in such a way that Stiles couldn’t have said with any real certainty whether it was intentional or not. He wore one of his usual cheap suits – gray, today – and a blue tie, loosened, his top button undone. This was positively disheveledby Derek Hale standards.

 

‘The ME’s ready to move her,’ Erica sighed, looking down at the ground outside Stiles’ field of vision, presumably at the body. She looked tired, distressed, but immaculately put together in a white satin blouse and grey skirt suit. Her shiny black heels clicked against the floorboards as she walked over to her superior. 

 

‘Go ahead,’ Hale nodded to the ME before turning to survey the room. Stiles ducked back behind the wall to avoid his gaze.

 

‘Reyes, what do you think?’ It might have sounded as if he were passing off work to an underling, but Stiles knew this was a big part of Hale’s job; developing Erica’s skills, teaching her to read a crime scene. Stiles tilted his head, eager to hear her thoughts.

 

‘Forced entry at the front door,’ she began, ‘it’s possible the attacker didn’t know she’d be home. He surprises her in here, but she surprises him too. They struggle, he overpowers her, asphyxiates her, steals the ring,’ and _oh, that’s interesting_ , Stiles thinks. ‘But why does he run?’ Erica wonders aloud, ‘What spooked him?’

 

The question doesn’t get answered, as a high pitched scream rips through the house, sending Stiles’ heart jumping into his throat. While Stiles had been listening to Erica, the ME had wheeled the gurney – complete with dead body - right into the hallway where Stiles and Scott were hiding, and Scott…Scott didn’t do well with dead bodies.

 

Stiles shot his friend a disbelieving look. ‘Really, dude? _Really?_ ’ Scott shrugged sheepishly as Erica and Hale leapt around the corner, guns drawn. ‘Whoa, whoa!’ Stiles yelled, his hands shooting up, ‘stand down!’

 

‘Stiles?’ Erica faltered, ‘Scott?’

 

‘Yes, it’s us, now will you please,’ Stiles mimed lowering a gun, ‘just, put those away?’

 

Erica complied, lowering her sidearm and slipping it into her hip holster.

 

Hale did the same, except he slid his under his jacket into the shoulder holster Stiles knew was strapped across his back. ‘Well, if is isn’t Nancy Screw-ball and the gerbil whisperer.’ He scowled menacingly. ‘What have I told you two about showing up at crime scenes?’ His eyes narrowed, ‘Did Mahealani let you in here?’

 

‘What?’ Stiles feigned confusion, ‘No. Who? We snuck around back, through the neighbour’s yard.’ It was the spur of the moment cover, but Hale seemed to buy it.

 

‘So that’ll be _two_ counts of trespassing for today, then.’

 

‘Well, the day is young,’ Stiles quipped, meeting Hale’s challenging glare with a smirk, holding his gaze.

 

‘Uh, excuse me?’ They all turned to look at the ME, still standing awkwardly with one hand on the gurney. ‘I should get to the van.’ Unfortunately, this served to remind Scott of his proximity to a dead body, and his face took on a decidedly green tinge.

 

‘Uh, is there a bathroom in this place?’ Stiles asked, putting a calming hand on Scott’s shoulder.

 

‘Down the hall to the right,’ Hale replied, not bothering to hide his contempt.

 

‘Go, buddy,’ Stiles shoved Scott in the right direction, ‘run like the wind!’

 

‘He gonna be okay?’ Erica asked, her concern tinged with amusement.

 

‘Yeah, he’ll be fine,’ Stiles sighed. ‘Dude can shove his whole arm inside a cow without batting an eye, but put him within ten feet of a dead body and, well. You get the picture,’ he gestured down the hall.

 

‘More vividly than I’d like,’ Erica agreed turning back to living room. Stiles moved to follow her, but was stopped by a large, firm hand on his chest.

 

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Hale asked, drawing himself up to his full height. Unfortunately for him, that was only about an inch taller than Stiles, and so lacked the intimidation factor he was probably going for.

 

‘Oh, you know,’ Stiles leant casually against the wall, ‘I was in the neighbourhood so I just thought I’d stop by and solve a case for you.’ It was mostly a bluff; there was a picture coming together in Stiles’ head, but it was still fuzzy.

 

‘Is that so?’ Hale queried, his hand still on Stiles’ chest. ‘Well I think we’ve got this one covered for now. You know, us _actual_ police. So you can go about your business.’ He gave a little push, just enough to make Stiles have to step back to steady himself.

 

‘Derek, ease up.’ Erica’s voice drifted in from the living room, ‘he’s harmless.’

 

‘Yeah, come on _Derek_ ,’ Stiles teased, ‘ease up.’

 

‘He shouldn’t be here,’ Hale growled over his shoulder.

 

‘And yet, I am!’ Stiles took advantage of Hale being distracted to slip under his arm and step into the living room.

 

‘Stilinski…’ Hale’s voice held a warning.

 

‘Okay, okay!’ Stiles held up his hands in a placating gesture. ‘Look, if I tell you who did it will you get off my back?’

 

‘Doubtful.’ Derek replied tersely.

 

Erica rolled her eyes. ‘You two are worse than kids. What are you thinking, Stiles?’

 

‘Reyes!’ Hale sounded outraged, but Erica waved him off.

 

‘Give him a chance, Derek. You have to admit he’s useful sometimes.’

 

Stiles grinned with glee, ‘yeah _Derek,_ I’m useful.’

 

‘ _Sometimes._ ’ Erica emphasized. ‘Don’t push your luck, Stiles. You’re just a PI and you _shouldn’t_ be here. Learn to quit when you’re ahead.’ There was hard edge of warning in her voice, and Stiles was suddenly reminded that she probably didn’t get this job on the merit of her pleasant nature.  

 

‘Fine, fine, let’s see.’ Stiles paused and closed his eyes, mentally rewinding through everything he’d seen since he arrived that morning. Memories flitted by, lining up and flying apart behind his eyelids as he thought furiously. Puzzle pieces that tried, failed, tried, _succeeded_ at fitting into a big picture. _Ah_ , Stiles thought, _there it is_. ‘The husband did it.’

 

‘Oh _really_ ,’ Derek sighed, exasperated. ‘And what are you basing that on, exactly? Is your spidey sense tingling?’ 

 

Stiles took a moment to appreciate the surprising reference – considering the source – before smiling broadly. ‘Not quite. I’m happy to tell you but, you know, I need a little quid pro quo here.’

 

‘Like what?’ Erica asked.

 

‘Reyes, don’t encourage him.’ Hale berated, his eyes still locked on Stiles. ‘He’s just a pest, and if we ignore him long enough, he’ll go away.’

 

‘He’s right, you know,’ Stiles nodded to Erica, pointing a finger at Hale. ‘I will go away. I’ll walk right out the front door, away from your crime scene, and get into my _criminally_ sexy jeep – you can write me up for that later,’ He threw a wink at Hale, who rolled his eyes, ‘and I will drive to the station and I will tell Chief Deaton everything I _could_ have told you.’

 

Hale’s shoulders slumped, just a fraction.

 

‘And _he_ will listen, because _he_ knows not to take me for granted.’

 

Erica lifted her hand, trying to smother a smile as Stiles went on, and Derek looked more and more dejected.

 

‘And ultimately I’ll be right – because I’m always right – and I’ll get a cheque and you,’ he laid a hand on Hale’s shoulder, giving a none-too-gentle squeeze, ‘you might get the collar but you’ll feel, right here, on the back of your neck-‘ Stiles twitched a finger against the downy hairs above Hale’s shirt collar, ‘-that annoying little itch because _I was right_.’

 

Hale reached up for Stiles’ hand on his shoulder, grabbed one of his fingers and pulled it back, hard, until Stiles was hopping in pain and wrenching his hand away. ‘Oh my _god_ you’re an animal!’

 

‘You have two minutes,’ Hale ground out. ‘Go.’

 

Stiles snorted as he shook his hand, trying to dispel the pain. ‘The husband did it,’ he repeated, ‘because she refused to reconcile.’

 

‘Reconcile?’ Erica frowned, confused. ‘We haven’t found anything to indicate they were separated.’

 

‘Well it’s not like he’d tell _you_. And it was recent, _very_ recent,’ Stiles clarified, ‘he hasn’t moved any of his stuff out, he still has a key. Sounds like the aftermath of a bad fight. If he’d given her some more time to cool off, maybe…’ He trailed off sadly. Sometimes his job sucked.

 

‘Any evidence to back up this font of conjecture, Stilinski?’ Derek tilted his head with a condescending smirk.

 

Stiles nodded, ‘sure. Let’s start with the front door.’

 

‘Let’s,’ Derek interrupted agreeably, ‘signs of forced entry.’ He smiled smugly, as if he’d just belted a winning serve into Stiles’ court.

 

 _Please_ , Stiles thought, _you barely cleared the net_. ‘Superficial scratches,’ he said dismissively, ‘he used his key to get in, and then took a screwdriver to the lock to make it seem forced. Now,’ he turned a steady look on Hale, ‘can I finish?’

 

Hale waved a hand in assent.

 

Stiles thought back; _the pictures in the hallway_. ‘They lived here together,’ _the house in the pictures was different to the one they were standing in now,_ ‘but not for long. They bought this house together, after the wedding.’ Statistics popped up from some recess of his memory, _probability of a first marriage lasting more than ten years, 0.66%._ He thought of the photos again, _no children, brings it down to 0.37%._ ‘They argued – they’re young, first marriage, it happens. She kicks him out, takes off her ring.’ He raises a hand to quell Hale’s objection before it starts, ‘ _She_ must have taken it off because that’s a pretty fancy gold anklet she’s rocking; a thief willing to take a plain wedding band would definitely have gone for that too.’

 

Stiles turned to the Head Detective, whose face was a stoic mask. ‘Still not convinced? Alrighty.’ _Manny_ , his mind provided. ‘The dog,’ he announced aloud. ‘I’m guessing it’s a big breed? Nice scary bark? This isn’t the best neighbourhood, I mean, there have been two home invasions this month alone.’

 

Hale scowled what Stiles liked to call his ‘how-the-hell-did-you-know-that’ scowl. It was one of his favourites. ‘Rottweiler,’ the Detective ground out, as if the concession pained him.

 

‘So, some strange dude busting in the front door and attacking the victim? That dog would have been going nuts. Except,’ _pause for dramatic effect_ , ‘the neighbours didn’t hear anything.’ That part was an educated guess, but his theory supported it. ‘Which suggests…’ he trailed off, circling his hands encouragingly.

 

‘The dog knew the attacker!’ Erica exclaimed, picking up where Stiles left off.

 

‘Bingo!’ Stiles cheered, and they exchanged a spirited high five.

 

‘Reyes!’ Hale snapped.

 

Erica immediately dropped her hand, contrite. ‘Sorry, Derek.’

 

‘What about the other home invasions?’ Hale asked, still skeptical.

 

‘What, I have to find that guy too?’ Stiles complained. ‘I’m confused, when do you start chipping in?’

 

Erica did an admirable job of turning her laugh into a cough, but Hale’s frown deepened nonetheless.

 

‘So there you have it,’ Stiles concluded, clapping his hands together. ‘He comes over to try and talk some sense into her, lets himself in, she refuses, they struggle, he overpowers her. Once he realizes what he’s done he runs, uses a screwdriver to cover his tracks at the door, and motors back to whatever crappy motel he’s holed up in.’

 

The room was silent for a long moment as they all absorbed Stiles’ theory. Eventually Erica stepped up, turning to Hale.

 

‘It can’t hurt to run his credit card, see if he’s booked in anywhere.’

 

‘Ooh,’ Stiles clicked his fingers as another idea occurred to him. ‘Check for car rentals, too. That’s a one-car garage outside, and her key is still hung up by the door. He might have returned the car, but if you get to it in time there could be trace evidence.’

 

Erica was watching Derek’s face carefully; he seemed deep in thought. Finally he gave an almost imperceptible nod. ‘Do it.’

 

‘On it,’ she replied firmly, already dialing on her cell as she walked out of the room, leaving Stiles alone with Detective Hale.

 

‘Come on,’ Stiles spread his arms wide, leaning back as he grinned at Hale, ‘you’ve gotta admit that was pretty good.’

 

‘ _If_ the information turns out to be in any way accurate, I would say it was…adequate, Stilinski.’

 

‘Or,’ Stiles proposed, folding his arms across his chest, ‘you could admit I’m a better detective than you’

 

‘I would rather watch _Les Mis_ ,’ Hale sneered with distaste, shouldering his way past Stiles and narrowly avoiding a still slightly green Scott. ‘Move!’ Hale bellowed, and Scott plastered himself to the wall to let him pass.

 

Stiles chuckled as he watched the Detective leave, listening to his heavy footfalls echo down the hall. Scott rolled and his eyes, and Stiles shrugged. ‘What? What’s that look?’

 

‘You get a kick out of it don’t you?’

 

Stiles frowned. ‘Out of what?’

 

‘Uh-huh,’ Scott grunted knowingly. ‘C’mon lets get out of here.’

 

‘Left a bit of a mess, huh buddy?’ Stiles asked sympathetically, patting Scott on the back.

 

‘Yeah.’

 

**

 

The Beacon Hills police station was bustling when Stiles walked in, but then it usually was. The blinds in Chief Deaton’s glass-walled office were open, and Stiles could see the department’s fearless leader tackling a mound of paperwork. _Boring_. He looked towards Erica’s desk, but her blonde curls were nowhere to be found. _Lame._

 

‘Mister Stilinski!’ Stiles turned towards the voice, surprised to see officer Mahealani striding towards him.

 

‘Hey man!’ Stiles reached out to clap him firmly on the shoulder, ‘good to see you again!’

 

‘You too,’ Mahealani smiled, revealing an adorable set of dimples. ‘Thanks again for having my back the other day, I appreciate it. It’s kinda tough being the new guy, you know?’

 

‘Don’t mention it,’ Stiles said graciously. ‘Like, ever, at all. To anyone.’

 

Mahealani just laughed, like Stiles was a particularly amusing joke.

 

‘So what’s going on around here?’ Stiles asked innocently, ‘seems a little busier than usual.’

 

‘Oh, you don’t know?’ Mahealani frowned, ‘I figured that was why you were here. Detective Hale caught Frank Stichler, that guy that killed his wife last week.’

 

‘No kidding?’ Stiles could help but be impressed. That was a quick turnaround, even for Hale.

 

Mahealani shook his head with a smile. ‘No kidding. He was trying to skip town, but Hale caught up to him. Sounds like it a pretty exciting collar.’

 

As if summoned, Stiles caught sight of Hale weaving his way through some uniformed officers to get to his desk. ‘Well, I guess congratulations are in order,’ Stiles mused aloud. With a nod to Mahealani, he made his way over to Detective Hale’s desk.

 

Stiles took a moment to appreciate the view as he approached. Hale was in full paperwork mode, his shirtsleeves rolled up the elbow, revealing muscular forearms with a dusting of fine, dark hair. His tie was gone completely, and his collarbone peeked out from beneath his undone top button.  Without the jacket to block his view, Stiles could see that the cheap suit did nothing to detract from the frankly world-class ass beneath it. And, of course, the ever-present shoulder holster, supple leather straps taut across the expanse of his back.

 

Stiles was startled to realize that he _liked_ seeing him like this; a little less intense, a little blurry around the edges. It was humanising. And hot. Definitely hot.

 

‘Hey,’ Stiles greeted, leaning against the wooden desk, ‘I hear you made a big bust, nice job buddy.’

 

Hale regarded Stiles suspiciously before lowering himself into his chair. ‘Thanks,’ he grunted, then, ‘did I see you talking to Mahealani?’

 

‘Oh, _that_ was Mahealani?’ Stiles feigned ignorance, ‘yeah he was asking me where the john was. Which, weird considering he’s been here over a week.’

 

‘Did you want something, Stilinksi?’ Hale flipped open a file and began scribbling notes in the margin.

 

‘Just to say hi, I guess. Erica around?’

 

‘If she is she’s probably busy doing her _job_.’

 

‘Alright, alright, easy Chewie.’ Stiles smirked at Hale’s disparaging frown. ‘I promise I won’t distract her, I just want to say hi.’

 

Derek snorted.  

 

Stiles raised an eyebrow. ‘Really. Just a quick hello and I’m gone.’

 

Derek lifted his head from his paperwork to look at Stiles dubiously. ‘Stilinksi, if you’ve ever said _a quick hello_ in your life then I will eat my Glock seventeen.’

 

Stiles frowned, taken aback by bitterness in the Detective’s voice. ‘Dude, what’s your problem? I’ve barely said two words to you and you’re all up in my grill.’

 

Hale dropped his pen, abandoning the pretense of work. ‘My problem is _you_ , Stilinski.’ He reached out and shoved at Stiles’ hip, forcing him off the edge of the desk. ‘It’s you being here, it’s you being at my crime scenes, it’s you sniffing around my partner like she doesn’t have anything better to do than entertain you.’

 

‘Whoah, hey,’ Stiles exclaimed defensively, ‘Erica’s a big girl, she can-’

 

‘And then you have the gall to say you’re not a distraction? You’re a _billboard_ for distraction. Either you’re around every corner, driving me crazy or you’re not around and _that’s_ driving me crazy, but either way you’re one big fucking _distraction_!’

 

Stiles’ eyes were wide as he stared down at Derek; watching as panic, then regret and resignation flashed across his face, almost too fast to decipher.

 

‘What-‘ Stiles began, but Hale quickly cut him off.

 

‘I need a drink.’ Grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair, he turned and stalked away like he hadn’t just blown Stiles’ mind. _What the hell just happened?_

Stiles snapped himself out of his reverie, turning to face the rest of the station – all of whom suddenly seemed very busy doing anything but looking at him. He spied Erica over by the coffee machine and stumbled over to her.

 

‘Erica,’ He pleaded, ‘tell me you saw what just happened here.’

 

‘I saw it,’ She admitted with a grimace.

 

‘Well, good, can you explain it to me then?’ Stiles spluttered.

 

‘Stiles,’ Erica admonished gently, ‘come on, you’re smarter than this.’

 

‘Smarter than _what?’_ Stiles could barely keep the hysteria out of his voice. ‘Apparently somewhere between this morning’s pop tarts and the front door of the Beacon Hills PD, I slipped into an alternate dimension where Derek Hale’s barely disguised disdain for me has morphed, for no apparent reason, into full-blown hatred! That’s all I can come up with!’

 

Erica narrowed her eyes. ‘Hatred, really? That’s your theory?’

 

Stiles just stared at her,  his brow furrowed with confusion. ‘What the hell else would you call that?’

 

‘Go home, Stiles,’ she sighed as she drifted toward her desk, ‘maybe a good night’s sleep will help.’

 

Perplexed, Stiles could only stand and watch her go. ‘Help with _what?_ ’

 

**

 

It was the middle of the night, and someone was pounding on Stiles’ head. No, the door. Someone was pounding on the door.

With the slow, ambling movements unique only to the very tired and the walking dead, Stiles dragged himself out of bed and down the hall to the front door. He pressed his eye to the peephole. Pulled back, rubbed at his eyes, and looked through again.

 

Yep, Derek Hale was still on his doorstep.

 

Slowly, cautiously. Stiles opened the door to the Detective. Hale pitched forward for a moment before righting himself and leaning heavily on the doorframe.

 

‘Derek?’ Stiles croaked, too tired to bother with titles and affects. He squinted at the disheveled detective swaying slightly on his doormat. ‘Are you drunk?’

‘You,’ Derek slurred, pointing to the left of Stiles’ head, ‘ _infuriate_ me.’

 

‘Ok, well -’

 

‘And you, you _astound_ me.’

 

 _What?_ ‘What?’

 

‘And I think I’m in love with you, you fucking asshole.’ And then Stiles watched as all six feet of detective went crashing to the ground.

 

**

 

Stiles was perched on the arm of his sofa with a mug of coffee clutched between his hands when Derek finally began to stir. It was almost noon, and Stiles hadn’t slept since this impromptu slumber party had kicked off around three AM. Derek’s form shifted around under the sheet Stiles had tossed over him after depositing him on the couch. Dark, spiky bed-hair emerged first, followed by Derek himself, blinking into the light like a newborn.

 

‘Hey,’ Stiles greeted, and Derek jerked with surprise.

 

‘Stiles?’ He’d only used Stiles’ chosen name a handful of times since they’d known each other. It sounded alien, but not unpleasant. ‘How did you get in my house?’

 

‘I didn’t,’ Stiles gestured around his living room, ‘you got into mine. Well, I let you in. Really you just passed out on my threshold and I dragged you in. Your ass is heavy, by the way.’

 

Derek seemed to decide this revelation was too troublesome, and so ignored it completely. ‘Did I drink last night? I never drink.’ He cocked an eyebrow at Stiles.

 

‘Don’t look at me!’ Stiles protested. ‘What, you think I roofied you?’

 

Derek didn’t reply, just sat up slowly. Stiles guessed he was nursing a hell of a hangover. ‘Asprin?’ ‘

 

Derek nodded, ‘please.’

 

When Stiles returned with two pills and glass of water, Derek was sitting up leaning forward with his head in his hands. He looked up at Stiles, ‘Did you take-’

 

‘Your gun and holster are in bathroom,’ he preempted, ‘both of them. Incidentally, the ankle one was a nice surprise when I was untying your shoes, thanks for that.’

 

Derek looked down, as if seeing his bare feet for the first time. He wriggled his toes. ‘Thanks.’

 

‘No problem. Listen, Derek,’ Stiles steeled himself. ‘Since you’re here, I wanted to apologise. To you.’

 

‘What?’ Derek’s brow furrowed as he tossed back the pills, grimacing as he chased them with the water. ‘Why?’

 

‘For, you know, hanging around at the station and showing up at crime scenes and…actually, no, I’m not really sorry for any of that stuff. But I am sorry that it bugs you. Sometimes,’ he paused to consider his words, aware that Derek was watching him, quietly listening. ‘Sometimes I forget that you didn’t just spring up from the BHPD floor, fully formed with dual glocks and an encyclopedic knowledge of police procedure. You’re just a dude, and you’re doing a tough job, and I shouldn’t always treat it like a joke. So, sorry.’ It felt simultaneously woefully inadequate and ridiculously dramatic. Stiles picked at the seams on the couch.

 

‘Stiles,’ Derek cleared his throat, and Stiles looked up. ‘What did I say last night?’

 

Stiles considered answering honestly. _That I infuriate you, and astound you, and apparently you’re in love with me._ But how would Derek react to that, in the harsh light of day? Stiles still didn’t know how _he_ felt about it, and he’d been up thinking about it for almost nine hours straight. He was, however, beginning to recognize the flutter of something hesitant and promising; a peculiar kind of butterflies that echoed through his chest when he remembered Derek’s words. _I think I’m in love with you_. Maybe it had been there all along? The physical attraction had been instantaneous, as had the spark; that need to push, and be pushed.

 

It had taken time to get past Derek’s clipped speech and by-the-book attitude. He’d earned Stiles’ respect the long, slow way, and maybe he’d earned his affection as well; so gradually that it had surprised even Stiles. But it was definitely there, hidden under a veil of hostility.

 

But it wasn’t fair to set that at Derek’s feet on the back of a night’s heavy drinking and lowered inhibitions. So he just smiled, and said, ‘nothing. Nothing, dude you just knocked on my door and then passed out.’

 

Suddenly restless, Stiles stood up from the couch, draining the last of his coffee and heading for the kitchen. ‘You want breakfast? I got toast, pop-tarts, and count chocula.’

 

‘So I didn’t-’ Derek hesitated, and Stiles paused mid-step. ‘I didn’t say anything about…feelings?’ The word dripped off his tongue like a profanity.

 

Stiles turned back, finding Derek’s focus laser-locked on him with an intensity he usually reserved for murder suspects. Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair. ‘Derek, look; you were hammered, okay? It’s fine, I’m fine, and here is your out. Take it.’

 

‘What if I don’t want to?’

 

‘I’m sorry?’ Stiles gaped as Derek stood, casting off the bed sheet and closing some of the distance between them. ‘What?’

 

‘You drive me insane,’ Derek admitted, ‘but you challenge me. You push me to be better at my job. You make me look at angles I hadn’t considered, that I would never consider on my own. You’re obnoxiously loud, and you walk around the station like you own it. The Chief lets you get away with way too much, and one of these days-’

 

‘Hey,’ Stiles interrupted, his tone light, ‘we were saying nice things about me, remember? Let’s get back to that.’

 

Derek smiled, small and fragile, but it was such a rare sight that Stiles couldn’t have looked away, even if he had wanted to.

 

‘But when you’re not there it feels too quiet, too stuffy. People get short-tempered.’

 

‘People?’ Stiles interjected, raising his eyebrows significantly.

 

‘People…including me,’ Derek conceded. ‘You’re one of us now, for better or worse. You bring us together.’

 

‘Like a leader,’ Stiles grinned.

 

Derek considered, tilting his head. ‘More like a mascot.’

 

Stiles mimed a laugh, landing a soft punch on Derek’s bicep, ‘Derek Hale, comedian.’

 

‘I’m sorry for blowing up at you yesterday.’ His voice was quiet and contrite.

 

It was a sharp turn, and Stiles took a moment to catch up. ‘No big deal,’ he assured Derek.

 

‘No,’ Derek shook his head, ‘I was a dick. But in my defense, I had just realized you were a lot further under my skin than I knew. It caught me off guard.’

 

‘And your first instinct was to get bat-shit drunk?’ Stiles prodded gently. ‘Are you s _ure_ this is what you want?’

 

‘I said it caught me off guard, Stilinski,’ Derek sniped; his tone tinged with the exasperation Stiles knew so well. ‘And not much does.’ His eyes were downcast, his body language hesitant, and Stiles felt more affection for this new side of Derek every moment. ‘Does that mean,’ Derek exhaled, long and slow, ‘is this something _you_ could want?’ His eyes flicked up, and in them Stiles saw an uncharacteristic vulnerability. His chest tightened, and he realized that maybe the Detective was under his skin a little, too.

 

‘I think I could be persuaded,’ Stiles smiled, taking a small step closer, ‘if you think you could deal with me one-upping you at work _and_ in the bedroom.’

 

Derek’s eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned in. ‘Is that a challenge?’

 

‘Well I do push you to be your best,’ Stiles teased gently, ‘I’m sure there are some _angles_ you haven’t considered in other areas too.’

 

‘I look forward to working closely with you on that,’ Derek whispered before gently pressing their lips together. It was a soft kiss, close-mouthed, and Derek smelled like stale beer and scotch, but it was sweet and it was new, and Stiles melted into it.

 

‘Derek?’ Stiles whispered, pulling back.

 

‘Hmm?’ Derek’s eyes were closed as he gently touched his nose to Stiles’, pressing their foreheads together.

 

‘There’s a spare toothbrush in the bathroom.’

 

Derek snorted a laugh as he pulled away, cupping Stiles’ face in his hands. ‘Fair enough.’ He turned towards to bathroom, looking over his shoulder to say, ‘I’ll be back.’

 

‘I’ll be here,’ Stiles promised, smiling contentedly as Derek walked away. ‘Oh, and Derek? When you come back? Bring the holsters.’

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can follow me on tumblr at scottmotherfuckinmccall.tumblr.com  
> Comments are love!


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